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Updated: June 19, 2025
'The Tyrone was pushin' an' pushin' in, an' our men was swearin' at thim, an' Crook was workin' away in front av us all, his sword-arm swingin' like a pump-handle an' his revolver spittin' like a cat. But the strange thing av ut was the quiet that lay upon. 'Twas like a fight in a drame except for thim that was dead. 'Whin I gave room to the Oirishman I was expinded an' forlorn in my inside.
He got up on all fours, and began to growl a little an' switch his tail. I knew then that it wouldn't be long before he came fer me, an' I took a fresh grip on the axe. I knew I didn't have a chance, but I figgered on puttin' my mark on the critter before he did fer me, anyway. "He crept closer an' closer, growlin' and spittin' away fer all the world like a big tomcat gettin' ready t' fight.
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